


Far From Any Road...

by youorcoldestshouldertocryon



Category: Supernatural, True Detective
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2014-10-26
Packaged: 2018-02-22 17:32:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2516048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youorcoldestshouldertocryon/pseuds/youorcoldestshouldertocryon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Rust met an Angel, who would burn brightest?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Far From Any Road...

As the dust-red pick-up scraped down the track, Rust Cohle leant back into the worn fabric, bracing himself against the dips and bumps. The sun was low and the wisps of trees were engulfed in a fiery peach glow. His head throbbed and burned from the day’s driving; bad coffee stops and the stench of poverty had seeped into the marrow of his bones.

His eyes were two thin slits against the light, drawing his thin cheeks upwards and creating a thick ‘v’ of a frown under the streaks of hair that fell on his brow. As he headed towards the long crest of road that arced into the end of the day, he began to sense that familiar, disconcerting shift of consciousness that punctuated his daylight hours. The sky seemed to bleed and ebb; a wash of pigment that oozed across his vision, blurring his understanding of the dynamics of this physical realm, streaming into his past neuroses. He sighed into it.

These…’visions’…were something that he had begun to expect, if not yet embrace, as such-remnants from the life that he had left behind in a hospital room, with its scrubbed white walls and carbolic scent. The nubs of the bullet holes were a physical reminder, and these slanted, elegant motifs were their metaphysical cousins; pretty, playful and mesmeric.

It was as if the choices a man makes become imprinted within the muscle memory of his body, waiting patiently till tiredness overwhelms him. The slick tongue of dissatisfaction licks and slobbers across his empty skull, devoid of feeling and sunk in a thick black pool of denial.

But wait. Now, this was new. Visual and auditory elements were common, but never anything this fully formed. As he squinted against the low glare of the sun, his eyes flicked to the windshield mirror, and locked with the fixed cobalt stare of the pale face that reflected back from the figure sat beside him.

‘if you think I’m ready to engage in a cheap, one-sided conversation with myself, then you clearly forgot the night of the Prednisone and Atropine ‘Lucky Dip’. I have nothing to say out loud that I haven't already spilled in my head. You waste your time trying to regurgitate old truths.’

He glanced to his right, determined to see the weathered cloth seat empty. He disguised his surprise well; the merest twitch of an eyebrow was all the response he allowed himself. The slight, pale figure merely closed his eyes slightly too slowly; an indication of annoyance or, perhaps, resignation. Shifting slightly, he turned to make direct communication with his reticent host.

‘I have no idea what you are referring to. I am not party to such information. I am, however, here to request your help with a certain….’problem’….that needs urgent attention. I sincerely hope that you will be able to assist me.’ At that, he tilted his head, as if he was trying to communicate with something far less sentient. It seemed a well-rehearsed gesture.

Rust slowed the car to a slow crawl as he took in his new neighbour’s proximity. This was fascinating, of that there was no argument. The upturned face was framed with thick, dishevelled black hair that curled and danced around an incandescent pair of heavy-lidded, long-lashed eyes. When this face spoke, it did so through chapped lips that were both dry with the heat, yet plump with questions. He shimmered with intensity. Rust stared. Humanity held little allure for Rust, but there was something mesmeric about this figure that promised something….worthwhile.

They travelled that way for another 3 miles or so, One glancing surreptitiously at the Other through the rectangle of mirrored glass, as if sensing out some kind of way into the next phase of conversation. Eventually, it was Rust that broke; ‘I’m gonna stop pretending that I’m pretending that you are not there, so maybe that way you will go of your own accord. I get that I am probably attempting to induce some ‘deep and meaningful’ inner dialogue, so….just this once…..I will go with the needs of my fucked-up sub-self’.

The blue eyes blinked slowly.

“As you wish.” This would be a long trip.

 

 

The light dimmed into night, as the pair settled into an easy rhythm. So far, very little had been said, but there was a palpable air of expectation than sat heavy in the car, making the air hum. There was no question that there would be talk, just that it wasn’t need yet. They both had a mutual understanding, even if-at least on Rust’s part-it would appear to be one-sided. Eventually, the driver turned to his silent co-pilot and spoke softly, with a slight hint of amusement,

“So, if this ‘relationship’ is to continue for a little longer, I suppose I ought to call you something.”

He looked pointedly across the cab, a smirk playing the corner of his mouth.

“I am Castiel’, replied the pale moon beside him.

‘Huh? Castiel? Caaaas…tiiii…ellll…’, Rust rolled the name across his tongue till it sat neatly in his speech.

 

_This felt different, this name. It was slow; a drawl of patient frustration, rather than an abrupt imperative. It felt better, somehow. Equal. It wasn’t intimate like ‘Cas’, but it hung in the air, resonating with depth and meaning, unfolding and fusing, syllable by syllable. It sounded liquid- not staccato flint-chipped- like it meant something._

_He would never tire of hearing those stretched consonants._


End file.
